


Just Them

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 02:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: Post season 11, no baby. A weekend away.





	Just Them

He saw the classified for the cottage in an old copy of an alien abductee magazine he’d long since unsubscribed from. The ad claimed ‘come for the light show and if you’re lucky enough to get to stay you get the chance to sound like an alien-loving lunatic’. Something about that line made him think of Scully. He booked it for the following weekend.

She griped most of the way up. 'You know, sometimes Mulder, I would like to choose where we go for the weekend. I’m a grown ass adult, with preferences and yet…’

'Here you are riding shotgun with your boo while Fleetwood Mac blares out the open windows.’ He shoots her a smug grin and she presses the window up button.

'Bae, Mulder. I’m the boo and you’re the bae.’ He can tell she instantly regrets saying it. He latches onto the opportunity like one of her beloved barnacles.

'I love you, the boo. I love that you are always willing to get in the car with the bae because you still trust him.’

She slides down the seat and toes off her shoes. 'I might trust you, Mulder, but I don’t always trust your weekend accommodation choices.’ She lets his hand linger on her thigh for a moment longer than he anticipated.

'I swear Scully, this one will be beautiful.’

She sighs and he squeezes and they both watch the tall trees guide their way to the lake.

There’s a verandah with a rocking chair fit for an old man. There’s a spa bath perfect for the boo. There’s a fireplace and woolly rug ideally positioned for fu… 'Mulder!’ She practically stamps her foot and he loves it.

Loves her. All her moods and moans. All her exasperation and eloquence. All her curves and dips and soft, warm places. She looks like an ancient witchy woman, swathed as she is in an old robe, fiery hair asunder, mouth popped open ready to snap, power running through her veins. He has a sudden urge to run a beast through as she foraged for herbs. He can smell the wild borage and dandelions. But when she lifts her chin to speak to him, he realises they’ve both seen too much blood and bone and spent too long looking for sustenance, for life, in strange places.

This cottage, admittedly is strange. But it’s also comforting, like a rare hug. It spoke to him from the pages of a yellowy, dog-eared magazine. Years ago, he would have cut it out and slipped it into a Manila file. Now, he’s willing to just spend a simple weekend away, on the receiving end of Scully’s eyebrow, sighs, tsking and midnight snuggles.

It’s nearly 11pm. 'Hey, the boo,’ he whispers, so close his lips brush the underside of her ear and she half-giggles, half-bristles. 'Come look at this.’

How many times has he grabbed her slender wrists and pulled her into his orbit to watch the arcane?

’M'sleep,’ she says but lets herself be swept along. Outside, cicadas chirp like maracas, the wind through the leaves is a lilting harp. His hair wafts up and down in rhythm. Her arm snugs itself through his and he finds her hand to clasp her cold fingers inside his.

Above them, thin strips of cloud undulate like dancer’s fingers across the silvery glimmer of the full moon. The sky is pearlescent and he thinks his sailor’s daughter, pressed against his side, will love its purply-green seashell mottling.

'It’s beautiful,’ she says and it is. It is.

'It’s not quite the aurora borealis but it’s good enough.’

It will always be good enough if she’s shivering in his embrace, if she’s telling him she’s going vegan, if she’s bored of Netflix, if she falls asleep on his bad shoulder, if she chooses a luxury apartment in the city for their next weekend away. It will always be good enough. That’s the truth.

'Is this why you chose this place, Mulder? For the lights?’ Her fingers dance in his palm and he drops a kiss on her mussed hair, breathing the faint smell of woodsmoke.

He shrugs. 'I chose it for my boo.’ And she laughs into his underarms. 'For you, Scully.’

There’s a flash of white. She gasps. Another. They crane their faces to the melange of colours. It is beautiful.

The sky goes ink-dark, the wind drops, the woods are plunged into silence. It’s just them. Chin to chest, arms in loose knots, hearts pressed together.

And he realises it’s always been just them.


End file.
